“It isn’t likely that anyone devised a working elsewhere and then refined and used it here,” FireWind mused. “The Irish covens are quite straitlaced and tend to oversee their younger members with an iron fist.” He sat back in the seat, one knee up over the console, invading my space. There was nothing unkind or deliberately baiting about it, but simply because he was so tall and his legs so long. Unlike his usual office attire of black dress pants and white dress shirt, he was wearing black denimand a white button-down shirt with a lariat tie. A silver clip with a tiny yellow stone held the tie together.
I had an insane desire to ask him if he got animal hair on his clothing when he shifted into an animal form, but I swallowed it back. I was developing a big mouth, and while it could have gotten me a backhanded slap in the church, here it could result in professional difficulties that could impact my career.
My brain froze.I have a career.
“Ingram?” FireWind was talking to me.
Distracted, I had missed something. I moved my eyes to him, aware that they were too wide, too large.I have a career. “Huh?”
“Do you have something to add?”
“No. Not a thing.”
He looked amused. “Would you be so kind as to introduce me to the Ragel family?”
“Huh?”
“The Ragel family. The victim’s family. Kent is busy. You’ve met them. I would like an introduction.” He was laughing inside. I could practically see it leaking out of his pores.
“Sure.”
“Now,” FireWind said to Occam.
Occam turned in his seat, opened the door, and leaped out. A drone veered away and Occam raced into the dark, following its trajectory.
The drone had been hovering over the car. Someone was watching, perhaps listening to us. And FireWind and Occam had known.
FireWind exited on the other side and said softly, “Well. That was interesting.”
“Yeah. Fu—freaking press,” T. Laine said.
The big boss smiled at her quickly recalibrated speech.
***
Inside, I took FireWind on a tour of the house’s main level. When he motioned to the basement stairs, I said, “If you want, but there’s a few things you need to know. You’ll need to sit in the null room for a while after you get done, and right now it’s full of dead body stink. You’ll have to dress out and we’re out of unis.The basement should be T. Laine’s to explain. And you might want to talk to the family first?” At the last moment I made that one a question, hoping that it changed my suggestions—orders?—into something less dictatorial. He really did bring out the elder-churchwoman-bossy in me.
He tilted his head and his eyes down to me in the formal way that did such a good job of keeping people at a distance. His braid slid over one shoulder to rest across his chest. “As you wish. I informed Kent that I brought a box of blue unis.”
“Oh. That’s good.” Ofcoursehe had been contact with T. Laine. And had brought unis.
Together we trooped up the back stairs and I gave him a tour of the second level. The master suite was empty and had been tidied by someone, likely the family, especially the huge closet, its door partially open to show the bare floor. I peeked in and there was nothing pink hanging or shelved. I had looked online and discovered thousands of photos of Stella Mae Ragel onstage. She never wore pink. Someone had removed pink clothing from Stella’s closet. I murmured all this, and FireWind made ahmmmingsound.
We pulled on nitrile gloves and rummaged through the closet, opening drawers, and I found three photo albums and a bunch of loose printed photos, which FireWind estimated were ten years old. We took them in as evidence, placing them in oversized evidence bags he carried in one pocket, just in case something from Stella’s past was important to the case. I started the chain of custody forms for things we would remove from the house.
Together we walked around the bedroom, being nosy, the way special agents were supposed to be. There was a tall vase on the bedside table, with a pretty fuchsia bow tied through its two handles. It was maybe eighteen inches tall and it looked old, one of those antiques rich people collect for flowers and display. The vase had a teal bottom that got lighter near the top, the color at the rim a bright pink that nearly matched the bow. A yellow sunflower and green leaves were molded on the front, and a small card was folded at the base. FireWind said softly, “Roseville, the sunflower pattern.”
I raised my brows in question. “You don’t look like the kindaman who’d know about pottery. Antiques, yes, because you’re so old, but not fancy pottery.” As soon as the words left my mouth I was horrified.
He looked amused and then his face softened. He said, “My wife and I visited San Francisco once. She had a particular liking for Weller and Roseville pottery, which she discovered in a storefront near the bay. She spent many hours there, talking to the owner, learning the different styles and patterns, and when we left, I bought her a small tea set to take with us. She adored the green magnolia pattern and the apple blossom pattern.” His forehead creased and he said, “I believe that I still have the tea set somewhere, in storage.”
I opened the tiny card and on the inside were three words and a date. “‘I love you,’” I read aloud, “and this is dated three months ago.”
“Bag it,” FireWind said, meaning take it into evidence. He shifted the photo albums to his other arm. “Come. Let’s see what the rest of the floor shows us.”
We went on, glancing into the rooms, following the soft sound of voices into a gathering/media room. This room was furnished with leather-upholstered recliners and sofas arranged to view the oversized movie screen, and two square tables with chairs for playing cards or eating. There were black end tables, a kitchenette and minibar with a full-sized fridge, a two-burner stove, a microwave, and a large selection of liquors on shelves. As we pulled off our gloves, I knocked on the door and the occupants turned, going silent. “May we come in?” I asked.
“Is that the FBI agent who took Catriona?” Tondra asked, her face taking on a pugnacious appearance.
